Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(74)

Toward Zane.

And the entire predicament, this newfound threat, was all Jordan’s fault.

In the time it had taken Zane to heal Dan, the dragyri could have scorched the vertebrae, and Jordan and Zane could have escaped.

He hadn’t had a second to spare.

For all intents and purposes, Dan had been dead, and Zane had chosen to reanimate Jordan’s ex-lover instead of extinguishing the threat.

Now, he was facing a monster.

f

Zane knew they were out of time.

He would never get Jordan up the stairs, away from the perilous shadow, and into the portal, to safety. And he no longer had a window of opportunity to take her to one of his brothers while he stayed and fought the pagan.

The shadow-walker was too strong.

Too intent on annihilation.

Zane leaped across the bunker, placing his immortal body between Jordan and the shade, and he thanked the gods of the sacred stones that he had been born a Genesis Son. “Father!” he shouted, shaking the bunker. “My lord, I need your assistance!”

He felt Lord Saphyrius stir, but he didn’t have time to listen…

Or to wait.

The shadow-walker had taken on a loosely human form, and it dove across the bunker at Zane, crashing into the center of the dragyri’s torso. Zane’s ribs exploded inward, breaking in his chest, and he gasped in pain, fighting for breath, all the while trying to shove his assailant backward. The bastard felt like a five-ton truck—he just kept coming, and coming…and coming. The dance of arms, of claws, and fists was like an industrial fan spinning at inhuman velocity: strike, block, stab, retreat…on and on, they tangled.

Zane grasped the shade by the forearm and broke it; the shadow countered by crushing Zane’s hand. Zane slammed his forehead into the shadow’s bony brow; the reptilian frontal lobe gave way, and the creature retaliated by spewing acidic goo—trying to spray Zane in the eyes.

He missed by the width of a human hair.

The pagan grunted, drew back his unbroken arm, and quickly plunged it forward, tunneling through Zane’s exposed chest. He snatched Zane’s heart and began to tug, trying to wrench it free from the dragyri’s thorax. Zane latched on to the shadow’s spindly wrist and held it in a vise grip of his own. He drew on his limited breath—his broken ribs were impeding his lungs—and exhaled a long, continuous flame, trying to melt the pagan’s face off…force him to let go of his heart.

And that’s when he felt the power of the dragon lord swelling within his breast.

Reach for your amulet, my son! The thunderous command was imperious, but holy shit—was Lord Saphyrius crazy? The pagan still had Zane’s heart! If he let go, it would all be over.

Trust me, dragyri!

Marshaling all the preternatural speed of his kind, Zane released the pagan’s wrist and clutched at his amulet. The sapphire glowed in an instant. Zane’s ribs knitted together, and a force like a raging tornado exploded outward.

Rising like an ancient serpent from the sea, Zane let out a feral roar and lunged forward. His jaw went lax, his throat filled with fire, and his neck grew a dozen inches longer. He struck like a viper, inhaling the pagan’s head and closing his jaws around it. Then he whipped his head from side to side, sending pieces of the pagan flying—serrating the shadow’s body with his treacherous teeth.

Zane continued to pounce on the remnants.

He let go of the pagan’s crushed skull and seared it to ash. Then he wandered from body part to body part, slinking throughout the room, scorching anything that was left.

A dazzling blue beam of light shot forth from Zane’s amulet, cascaded upward into an arc, and curved backward, entering his body through his throat. It snaked through his veins, saturated his muscles, and meandered through the collagen in his bones. And just like that, his ribs were healed, his hand was repaired, and his forehead was whole.

His heart beat with new vitality as he rose from the floor and spun around, searching the room for Jordan while reclaiming his aboriginal form. “Angel,” he called out, listening for her heartbeat.

She was hiding on the floor, crouched behind the couch, and peeking around the arm. Her eyes were as wide as saucers; her mouth was hanging open; and she looked like she had just seen a ghost.

“Are you okay?” he asked, covering the distance between them in seconds.

She jerked back, threw up her hands, and cowered before him.

“Do not be afraid,” he murmured. “I will never harm you, angel—you know this.”

She gulped, tried to speak, and grunted something incoherent.

Zane angled his head to the side and tried to offer a smile, however faint, to reassure her.

She shook her head back and forth to clear her bewilderment. “I thought…” The words came out as a croak, and she had to try again. “I thought you weren’t a shifter.”

Zane softened his voice. “I’m not, baby girl.” Then he held out his hand to help her up. “Come, dragyra, we need to get out of here.”

She stared at his palm like he was an executioner inviting her to take a trip to the gallows, and then she slowly marshaled her courage and clasped the proffered offering. “What about Dan?” she asked, glancing across the floor at the crumpled, unconscious body.

“He will live,” Zane said, “but you’re right…”